


Medical Latin, Medical Greek

by scribe-tuesday (Leofuller)



Series: Back Up There [20]
Category: Original Work, Sports Fiction (not RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-09-30 13:41:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leofuller/pseuds/scribe-tuesday
Summary: You've just got to play the hand that life deals you





	1. 2004

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: fertility issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any medical terms will be explained in the end notes

It’s not good news. It’s never going to be good news if the doctor asks if there’s somebody here with you before they give you the test results.

Sara’s not expecting good news, by now.

She’d only wanted to renew her repeat prescription for the pill.

 

2004 is a year for changes, though. 2004 is graduating from university with a first class honours degree. 2004 is landing a great graduate-entry job. 2004 is moving to a new city.

2004 is registering with a new doctor, in this new city, a new doctor who goes through the routine appointment to renew Sara’s contraception prescription and who actually listens when Sara mentions the cramps she’s always suffered from.

2004 is ultrasound scans, and cameras in places that no camera should go. 2004 is a crash course in medical terminology.

 

Sara sits straight-backed next to the doctor’s desk and waits. Her pulse thumps in her ears, a steady beat of _cancercancercancercancer_.

The specialist looks her right in the eye.

“It’s not cancer.”

 

The ultrasound showed something that shouldn’t be there, but the ultrasound also didn’t show some things that should be there.

One of the words that Sara didn’t want to have to learn, _hysterosalpingography_ , was also a procedure that she’d very much like to forget, and out of it came four more words.

_Hydrosalpinx._

_Unilateral adnexal agenesis._

The thing that shouldn’t have been there on the ultrasound scan was a pouch of fluid in her right fallopian tube. There’s something wrong with the tube that’s causing the fluid to build up, and that’s what’s causing the pain.

The problem with the tube is probably something that she was born with. A _congenital malformation of the reproductive system_.

That’s definitely the origin of the problems with her left fallopian tube and ovary, which are just… not there, and never have been.

 

Mr Ellis - Sara’s never understood why medical professionals study for so long to be called “Doctor” and then study even harder to be able to go back to “Mister” - runs through the options, which basically boil down to trying to repair the damaged tube or just taking it out altogether.

Mr Ellis says that removing the tube is often the best solution, but that he thinks that in Sara’s case a repair would be the right thing to attempt.

Sara accepts his recommendation.

 

Mr Ellis also tells her that she can’t have kids.

He doesn’t actually _say_ that, of course, Sara doesn’t think that doctors are allowed to tell you that in so many words if there’s even the most outside of chances, but he gives her some percentage odds that make the whole thing rather unlikely.

If the one ovary she possesses was properly plumbed in, her chances of getting pregnant would be pretty normal. It’s the fluid that builds up in the tube which affects her fertility, and even if the repair is successful her odds have decreased. Plus the problem can recur, so she’s going to have to be checked for this regularly from now on.

 

It’s not like she wanted kids right now anyway. Sara’s just finished university and she’s got a career to launch. Her boyfriend still has a year to go at university, and then _his_ career is probably going to involve a lot of moving around over the next few years, if he’s successful. They haven’t really sorted out what the near future might look like for them, let alone the long-term. They haven’t really sorted out if there _is_ a long term future for them yet.

Sara’s only 21. She can deal with maybe only being able to conceive through IVF when she gets there.

 

Ironically, having started this whole thing by requesting a repeat prescription for the pill, Sara ends up giving up on oral contraception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hysterosalpingography - a diagnostic procedure where a contrast solution (dye visible on xrays) is put into the uterus and xrays are taken  
> Hydrosalpinx - fluid in the fallopian tube  
> Unilateral adnexal agenesis - one ovary and fallopian tube are missing


	2. 2005

The weather is almost perfect on the day of Andrew’s graduation.

He’s come out with a 2:1, which isn’t bad when Sara knows that he wasn’t ever 100% focussed on his studies. Andrew’s always been about sport first and university second, and Sara knew that from the moment they met.

*

 

The first time Sara met Andrew she was on her way back to her car from the library, and he was standing at a bus stop with the biggest sports bag she’d ever seen, swearing at the back of the number 17 bus as it disappeared out of the end of the road.

Normally Sara wasn’t in the habit of talking to random guys in the street, but the sun was out for the first time in two weeks, and her housemates were throwing a party that night, and she was in a good mood. She was in a good mood, and this tall skinny guy with a hint of stubble and one of those hoodies that all the university’s sports teams seemed to have looked so helpless that she felt sorry for him. With a bag that size he was probably trying to get to the station, and now he was going to miss a train or something.

“You okay?” She asked, even though he obviously wasn’t.

He sighed. “Yeah. I just missed my bus…” he waved a hand at where the number 17 had last been seen. “Now I’m going to be late for training.”

“Where are you trying to get to?”

“Out to the ice rink?”

“Is that out by ASDA?” Sara was pretty sure that she’d seen signs for an ice rink out there.

“Yeah.” 

Sara thought about it for a split second, and decided that he wasn’t dangerous.

“I’m on my way to the supermarket now, do you want a lift?”

 

Andrew was easy company. Just finishing his first year on a Sports Science course, he played in goal for the ice hockey team that she hadn’t know that the university had, and also for a local team. He was on his way to a training session with the local team, and apparently he was about to be in a lot of trouble for being late when Sara came to his rescue.

“Seriously, you’re a life saver.”

“No problem, I was coming here anyway.”

He was easy to chat to, about their courses and the end of term and Sara’s housemate’s birthday party, about how the ice hockey teams were doing and how Sara really should come to a game, and when Sara dropped him off outside the rink it felt like she’d known him for a lot longer than half an hour.

It was one of those random encounters that put a smile on her face, and Sara went into ASDA to pick up party supplies knowing that she would probably never see him again.

 

He walked into the party just after eleven o’clock.

“So, my teammates have told me that when a hot girl rescues you from a bag skate you’re supposed to at least get her number.” He found her in the kitchen. “And since I totally failed to do that, I asked the guys on the uni team if they knew anybody doing Business Management who might know you, and I remembered you were having a party tonight, so Rocket thought that his girlfriend’s housemate might know your housemate, and it turned out that she did, so here I am!”

He grinned at her, clearly very proud of himself for tracking her down. Sara had no idea what a bag skate was or who Rocket and his girlfriend’s housemate might be, but she’d had a couple of drinks and the cute stranded hockey guy had gone to a lot of effort to find her again, so she just smiled at him. 

“Here you are!”

There was a little hint of uncertainty about him which sealed the deal, that he’d gone to this much effort to find her but wasn’t sure if she actually wanted to be found.

Sara put her hand on his arm. “Can I get you a drink?”

*

 

It feels like it’s been much longer than a year since Sara’s own graduation. It’s weird, standing here on the same set of steps where she’d posed for photos in her own gown and mortarboard, Andrew next to her. This time Andrew’s the one in the gown, and they’re posing with Andrew’s parents instead of hers. This time it’s not so windy.

Twelve months ago Sara was ready to step out into her first full time job, ready to take on the world.

She’d never anticipated that those twelve months would involve invasive gynaecological surgery and a fairly significant reorganisation of her life plans.

The job’s been great, Sara loves it there, and they were really good about the time she had to take off for her surgery only a few months after starting. She’s probably not going to stay there long, though, maybe another year at most, partly because she’s realising that the career opportunities within the company are not great, and partly because…

Well. Andrew.

 

Andrew’s been there every step of the way through her diagnosis and treatment. There’s no more surgery, now, unless the condition reoccurs, but he’s been endlessly supportive and he’s sat through conversations about female anatomy that would make a lot of guys his age really uncomfortable.

That last point says more about the general failure of guys to be normal human beings, rather than anything particularly amazing about Andrew, but he’s still been her rock. When Mum was having a meltdown about never having grandchildren, Andrew was there to remind Sara that she’s a complete person regardless of whether she has children. He’s been there with hot water bottles and ibuprofen, and he doesn’t care that she’s come off the pill because condoms make everything easier to clean up anyway.

It was tough, living in different places this last year, when Andrew can’t travel at weekends due to commitments with his hockey teams. Since Sara’s been well enough to cope with the driving again, she’s been back and forwards to her old university town, staying in Andrew’s disgusting houseshare even though that’s supposed to be behind her now that she’s graduated, because even the unwashed dishes and never-vacuumed carpets are better than not seeing him.

That’s done now, though, and Andrew’s been signed to a professional ice hockey team. He’ll be closer to her, now, and he’s going to get a little flat with no housemates, nobody else making a mess and refusing to clean it up, nobody blasting music all night when he has to get up at stupid o’clock in the morning for training.

It’s going to be better, this year. And then when Andrew’s finished his season, and they know where he’s going to be the year after, maybe Sara will get a new job and they can live together.


	3. 2006

They give it a few months, after Andrew joins his new team, but it’s pretty clear early on that he’s comfortable there and that they want him to stay around for a while. He’s the back up netminder on this team, but he’s getting to play a few games and he’s enthusiastic about his development opportunities.

Sara likes his new town. She lands a few interviews with promising looking companies, and then a second interview with the one she likes best, and then a job offer at pretty much the salary she was hoping for.

Living with Andrew means her rent and bills will be halved, too, so it’s all looking up.

 

New Year’s Eve is a Sunday, so the game is early. Sara’s got used to the sport, over the years, used to giving Andrew her support by layering the thermals under her coat and cheering the guys on from the stands even when Andrew doesn’t actually get to play. It’s better here, where she gets to cheer them on from the box that’s set aside for family members, where she can sit with Allie and stay slightly warmer.

Allie is married to Marc, the other netminder, and she’s sort of looking out for Sara in the same way that Marc looks out for Andrew. Sara doesn’t need looking out for, not really, it’s not like the players’ wives and girlfriends need to hang around and look decorative while carrying out charity work like they do in the NHL, they’ve all got lives and jobs, but it is nice to be able to speak French again. She’s not really used it since she left university, and it’s a relief to just chat with a native speaker and know that she’s not going rusty.

Allie and Marc have a daughter, Sophie, who’s three years old and into everything. She generally spends the first period of the game constantly trying to escape, running around the box. Luckily nobody seems to mind, and at some point during the second period she’ll just power down completely and fall asleep on the spot.

Today Sophie’s at home with her grandparents, however, as they’re all going out to a party at the captain’s house after the game. It’s a bit strange not having her underfoot. Sara’s used to her now, used to helping to catch her, to sweeping her up as she charges past. Used to having her fall asleep between Sara and Allie, toppling sideways onto Sara’s lap almost as often as she does onto her mother. All of that, and Sara never gets a twist in her gut.

She’d never been particularly maternal, growing up. She’d never played with dolls, living out her imagination with a constantly growing collection of My Little Pony toys to distract her from her parents’ refusal to start down the route of riding lessons and entire lives spent in stables. She’d never been desperately looking forward to the day when she could be a Mummy. Having children was a one-day thing, not a pressing desire, and now that she’s interacting with toddlers her failure to grow a functional reproductive system still doesn’t feel like a big deal.

It would be nice if Mum would stop insisting that Sara’s going to change her mind, but Sara suspects that she never will. It’s irritating enough now at 23, it’s going to be worse when she’s 30, still childless and still not bothered, but Mum will never change.

 

The party’s pretty good. Tom’s house is huge, although that’s due to family money rather than his hockey salary, and it’s been beautifully decorated for Christmas.

Sara and Andrew bought a new artificial tree this year, wanting something nicer than the cheapest decorations they’d found in their student days, but not prepared to deal with the logistics of a real tree in their third-floor flat. Not when the building doesn’t have a lift.

Tom and Megan’s hallway is double-height and their tree has to be at least nine feet tall. Most of it’s decorated with care and a professional eye to detail - Megan’s calling in life - but the bottom branches are hung haphazardly with the work of their children. Every ornament that’s been made at nursery or infant school, every wonky cardboard gingerbread person and festive pom pom has been attached to the tree in the locations selected by the kids.

Jack and Emily have been allowed to stay up just until Daddy gets home from the game. They’re already in pyjamas when they form an over-excited welcoming committee, and Megan’s intending to allow them half an hour to get it out of their systems before they have to go upstairs.

Emily’s shy in the face of so many people that she doesn’t know, latching onto Tom’s hand and refusing to talk, but Jack’s fearless and when Sara loses Andrew she finds him being given an explanation of all the tree ornaments.

Andrew’s great with kids.

He’s giving Jack his full attention, taking him totally seriously as Jack explains that the cotton-wool Santa was made when he was “just a baby”, and then he glances up and sees Sara. His smile is infectious, and Sara can’t help but share it before she goes on into the kitchen in search of a glass of wine.

It’s not fair.

Sara’s okay with her crappy reproductive system because she doesn’t know if she wants kids or not, thinks that life will be fine without them, but it’s not fair that Andrew doesn’t get an option. If her body worked the way it’s supposed to then at least the choices would be open to them, if in a couple of years they want a family they could just go down that road, but-

But her damn tubes take that choice away from Andrew as well as from her.

He’d be a great dad.

It’s not fair.

 

Jack and Emily go to bed, and then it’s a grown-up party and everything’s mostly fine, except that Sara can’t stop thinking about Andrew patiently talking to Jack, about Andrew casually sitting Sophie on his lap or his shoulders when they’re hanging out with Marc and Allie.

Neither of them have to drive tonight, there’s a taxi booked for some point after midnight, and Sara’s several glasses in when Tom and Megan start trying to gather everybody together.

Andrew’s been right beside her for most of the night, and as everybody’s gathering in the living room ready for the televised chimes from Big Ben he pulls her into the hallway.

The main lights are off out here, and as he pulls the living room door closed between them and his team the space is lit only by the tree.

“What are you doing? We’ll miss-”

“Sara.”

She can hear the rest of the party through the closed door, shushing each other so they can hear the TV.

“Sara, I-”

_ “Ten! Nine! Eight!” _

“Damn it, I had a whole speech and everything, but-”

_ “Five! Four!” _

He fumbles in the pocket of his jeans, his nice jeans that he only wears when they’re going out, and Sara’s not quite processing what’s happening as he drops to one knee.

_ “Two! One! Happy New-” _

“Will you marry me?”


	4. 2007

Sara blinks.

“I can’t give you children.”

“I know.” Andrew doesn’t look put out by her strange answer.

“You should have that option.”

“Sara.” He takes hold of her hand, the one that’s not still clutching her champagne. “I’m asking you to marry me because I love you. It’s not about the details of what might happen or what might not happen in the future, it’s about wanting to share my future with you, whatever that involves. It doesn’t matter, because you are enough for me, with or without kids.”

Sara still feels like she’s half a step behind.

“Will you marry me?” He looks like he’s going to laugh, like he hadn’t expected to have to repeat the question, and Sara catches up.

“Yes. Yes!”

Andrew is laughing, then, as he gets the ring (perfect, white gold, solitaire diamond, exactly the right size and it would have been perfect whatever he chose) out of the box and slides it onto her finger. 

One of them has shaking hands, Sara’s not sure which. Maybe it’s both of them.

“Get up.” She puts her glass on the nearest flat surface and pulls him to his feet so she can hug him, kiss him properly, hug him again. Over his shoulder she sees the living room door crack open and Megan peer cautiously around, and Sara suddenly realises that some of the others must have known, if they’ve been left with their privacy at midnight in this perfect romantic setting. 

Sara grins at her and flashes the ring. Megan vanishes, but the door stays open and it’s easy to hear the  _ She said yes! _ and the following mixture of cheers from people who knew and explanations for people who didn’t before they’re mobbed by Andrew’s team and the whole weird family that comes with ice hockey.

*

 

Neither of them wanted a big wedding.

They’re both only children, and Sara doesn’t see the point in spending a lot of money on feeding cousins she hasn’t seen for years. It’s just about their close friends, in the end, their parents, the people they staying close to after school, after uni - and Andrew’s team, who never miss a party.

It’s not that they can’t afford a big wedding and a long honeymoon, but they’d rather save that money for the deposit on a house, and so it suits them to get married on the last Friday in November.

Andrew’s got a week’s leave from the team - they’ll call up a guy from the EPL to sit in Andrew’s spot on the bench while Marc plays, and Andrew will be back by the next weekend.

The day passes in a blur, a handful of frozen moments.

Dad getting misty-eyed when he sees Sara all dressed up.

Sophie, just turned four and not really understanding the occasion but loving the attention she gets as a flower girl.

Andrew, waiting for her at the end of the aisle.

Dancing with Andrew - not the first dance, that’s in the photographs, but swaying on the spot with him towards the end of the night as the party wound down around them.

 

It rains every day on their honeymoon.

It’s perfect.

They’ve rented a cottage in Ireland for the week, and apart from their forays into the village for supplies and evening meals at the pub, it’s just the two of them, secure against the weather behind thick stone walls.

The night of their wedding rushed past, and by the time Andrew had figured out how to get Sara’s dress undone they’d both used up any remaining energy from a long (but perfect) day.

The first night of the honeymoon, Andrew pauses at the usual moment to find the condoms, and Sara stops him.

“Let’s have honeymoon sex.”

“Are you sure?” Andrew’s hand hovers over the drawer of the bedside table, where he’d thrown their supplies out of habit as he unpacked.

“I’m sure.” There’s a second where the spark passes between them, like they’re just like any other couple taking a chance on the future. Here in the honeymoon bubble.

It doesn’t matter that contraception’s really not necessary for them anyway.

 

Sara’s next period shows up on cue, anyway, ten days after they get home, and life goes back to normal.


	5. 2008

The letter scheduling her check-up usually comes through a couple of months in advance, which would be a perfect length of time for somebody less organised than Sara to forget all about it.

Sara’s not the sort of person who forgets appointments, but the NHS computers send her a reminder letter anyway, and a text message the week before.

It’s been in Sara’s diary since the first letter arrived. She’s used to the routine now.

 

Since they moved, her gynaecologist is Miss Lewis. Sara’s never been able to figure out how old she is, but she’s got a reassuring matter-of-fact air about her and Sara always feels calm when she sees her.

“Any changes to other medications?”

Miss Lewis doesn’t drag out the small talk before getting into the list of standard questions that they always run through before the physical exam.

“No.”

“Any chance you might be pregnant?”

Sara pauses, and Miss Lewis stops and waits.

“Um. Unlikely?”

“But not totally impossible?”

Sara’s has periods since they came back from honeymoon, but there was also that night when Andrew got a shutout against Nottingham and they’d run out of condoms and didn’t see the point in stopping. She’s had another period since then but it was a bit light.

Sara’s not pregnant.

Miss Lewis understands the pause, opens a drawer and hands her a sample pot.

“Do you think you can manage a urine sample for me? Just to rule it out?”

*

 

_Primigravida._

 

 

Sara doesn’t hate every minute of being pregnant.

 

 

Maybe every other minute.

*

 

The nausea which everybody promised her would subside in the second trimester hangs around past the twenty week mark.

 

All the people who insisted that of course she’d have a child one day - as if they had to reassure her, as if she couldn’t possibly be complete without being a mother - are somehow even more annoying once she’s visibly pregnant with their smug air of _I told you so_ which Andrew thinks she’s imagining. (He’s only brave enough to say that once.)

 

Sara’s blood group is A-, and Andrew’s is A+ which means that she needs extra injections to stop her blood from fighting with the baby’s blood.

 

Her own blood pressure goes through the roof, which is apparently unrelated.

*

 

They get another cool, damp summer, thank god, because Sara honestly doesn’t know how she’d cope with adding heatstroke to her existing status of being a beached whale who’s not allowed to get stressed.

Still, in the winter she’d have to be a beached whale in fifteen sweaters trying not to get stressed at hockey games, so that wouldn’t be a win either.

“You don’t look like a whale.”

Andrew’s said this many times now. Sometimes Sara believes him. Sometimes she yells at him. Sometime she cries.

He still says it.

“I’m just so ready to not be pregnant any more.” Sara puts her iced decaffeinated latte onto the table and shifts awkwardly in her chair. She’s going to have to go to the toilet _again_ in a minute.

“Not long now.” Andrew looks relaxed, but it’s alright for him.The new hockey season is about to start, so he’s full of enthusiasm for life, and the air conditioning in Costa is bringing him to a comfortable temperature instead of being simultaneously too hot and too cold like Sara is.

“You live it, then” Sara’s got five weeks of this left, and it’s only going to get worse because she’s going to get even bigger, somehow. “I’d rather just skip straight to the end, now.”

 

 

 

Her first thought, when the pain hits in the middle of the night, is _I didn’t mean it._

 

 

 

Andrew doesn’t wait for an ambulance, just loads her into the car and takes her straight to A&E. This isn’t early onset labour, this pain is something else.

This pain is something wrong.

 

They admit her. Give her pain management that does nothing. Scan her.

Baby’s okay. Baby’s heartbeat is strong. Baby’s moving like they should be.

Sara, on the other hand-

 

_Adnexal torsion._

 

Baby’s 35 weeks, now. Baby’s got really good chances if they have to deliver now. Sara gets a steroid injection, for Baby’s lungs, and they’re going to try to sit out the next 48 hours to give the steroids time.

They’re late enough in the pregnancy that Baby will probably be fine, if they have to operate sooner. Sara’s under close observation and they’re ready to take her down to theatre sooner if they have to, but if they can hit that 48 hour mark it’s better.

 

“New school year.” Sara’s dad remarks, when he comes in to sit with her on the morning of 1st September, sending Andrew to take a shower and maybe try to get some sleep. “Worth holding out for, giving my grandchild the academic advantage.”

Sara can’t laugh, because it hurts, and it’s not really that funny but she appreciates the sentiment. Torn between wanting Baby to be as strong as possible and wanting this pain to stop, Dad’s attempts at finding the silver lining are welcome.

 

The anaesthetic is also so, so welcome.

 

 _Caesarean Section_.

Miss Lewis is the one to operate. Baby comes first. Baby’s a girl.

Baby’s a girl, and they name her Mollie.

_Salpingo-oophorectomy_

Miss Lewis would have untwisted the ovary and allowed Sara to keep the half of a reproductive system she had, if it was possible. They’ve talked about it enough, though, over the past months, Sara and Miss Lewis, Sara and Andrew and Miss Lewis, talked about the options and what might happen, and it wasn’t hard for Sara to sign the consent forms for just-in-case, right before the surgery, before they knew for certain how bad things were.

Mollie’s going to be an only child, and that’s okay.

 

Sara and Mollie stay in hospital for four days after the surgery. Mum and Dad have been in every day since Sara was admitted. Andrew’s parents arrived the day Mollie was born.

Marc and Allie come in, but Marc’s apparently told Andrew’s teammates in no uncertain terms that there is a limit to the number of visitors allowed at the hospital and that they will have to wait until Sara feels like allowing them into her home.

 

Marc takes the photo. Andrew made him wait until the third day after the birth when Sara’s finally able to face washing her hair, not because Andrew cares for himself whether Sara’s presentable or not, but because she’d made him swear that he wasn’t going to put any photos on the internet of her red faced and shattered after the birth.

It feels like forever since they had that conversation, back when Sara was just a whale expecting to have a normal delivery, and some of their friends from the antenatal classes had posted unflattering pictures.

Sara understands now that with the new baby in her arms she’s far too happy to care what she looks like, but Andrew remembers, and so Mollie is three days old in the photograph that becomes their announcement to the world.

 

_Mollie Louise Forsythe_

_2nd September 2008_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Primigravida - a woman who is pregnant for the first time  
> Adnexal Torsion - twisted ovary  
> Salpingo-oophorectomy - removal of the ovary and fallopian tube


End file.
